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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26872546">Weird Fishes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnansiAnansi/pseuds/AnansiAnansi'>AnansiAnansi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Gen, Mostly this is just....something, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Smut, Some Plot, Some feels, Some humour, The 100 (TV) Season 6, The 100 (TV) Season 7, The 100 (TV) Season 7 Speculation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:28:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,689</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26872546</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnansiAnansi/pseuds/AnansiAnansi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is not Clarke; Lexa is not Lexa. That thirst though, that thirst is real.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Clarke Griffin/Lexa - implied, GodLexa/Josephine Lightbourne, JudgeLexa/Josephine Lightbourne, Lexa/Josephine Lightbourne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Weird Fishes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Catharsis is a weird fish; this is an attempt to make sense of something, anything, as I process my feelings towards the finale, but also towards the show's treatment of Clexa in general. Could they have been happier as not-versions of themselves, maybe? If you find the answer to that, let me know. </p><p>And thanks for giving this a read, if you do. Comments are always welcome, friends. Depending on them, I might be tempted to write a second part to this, more from God/NotLexa's POV. Yea/Nay?</p><p>Oh, and recommended listening: the entirety of Radiohead's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_lvqkQRb8iVo2obChPXi9XFRLoIyaxbTj8">In Rainbows</a> album.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After seven lifetimes on the same sun-reddened and forsaken planetary outpost on the outskirts of human reason, you’d think you’d be as immune to the dawn of another day as you were to the rest of it. The eating, the breathing, the waking up in a body that was not your own….but then, there was always the little thrill of knowing that yet again, you had somehow managed to evade death, and that at least for a little bit more, you were one step ahead of whatever it was you were supposed to be running from.</p><p>Which is why, the first night back was always spent in knowing, feeling, discovering your new body. And, like every good Prime, there was the ecstasy, and the inevitable pushing away of the agony, and like a very good Prime, the denial that any life other than your own mattered. <em> Et alors on danse. </em></p><p>She twirled to the insistent, incessant, ravey saxophonic beat, paintbrush in hand, touching the canvas in front of her lightly, singing along to the lyrics, her chirpy vocals missing the point of the drollery in the singer’s voice by a mile. “<em>Qui dit étude dit travail </em> …. <em> mais c’est ton corps, c’est pas le ciel </em>….” She mumbled along uselessly, missing half the words, and only partially understanding what it was she was saying. She had prided herself on learning the lost languages of the past once, making the most progress on French, until she had stopped caring about all of them. As she dabbed at the portrait in front of her, briefly pausing to take in the fragile, angular features she scarcely remembered as her own anymore, Josephine Lightbourne VIII was struck by a vision of thousands of voices joined together in song, spouting out the lyrics to this one in unison in the darkness of a club, their bodies enraptured by the hypnotism of it. An enviable position to be in, she thought, to sense that kind of excitement, that ecstasy, that belonging to a body… “Who the hell are you?” She stopped short, shocked by the strange apparition in front of her in the private confines of her room. </p><p>Dressed all in black, in what looked like heavy leather, fabric and fur, the spectre looked back at her, their expression serious and confused. “You’re not Clarke.”</p><p>“Clarke? Clarke’s <em> dead. </em> Well, at least her mind is.” She watched the figure moving towards her carefully, taking in the momentary stricken expression passing across their face. When their coat parted, her eyes travelled over their lithe figure, the narrow hips, the long, slim legs, the breasts she was sure would be firm and pert to touch. This person, whoever they were, stopped a foot away from her, their gaze probing. She couldn’t help it; she stared right back. Green? Were their eyes green? It was hard to tell with the warpaint shielding every emotion in them. But then, what did she know about feelings these days anyway? Those had died out somewhere between Josephine Lightbourne II and III, with Gabriel as she once knew him. But there was something about the person before her now, in the raw <em> hunger </em> leaping off them, that stirred something dormant inside, asleep as it had been for lifetimes. Licking her lips, she let her eyes travel across the beautiful face before her, before asking the question again. “Who <em> are </em> you?”</p><p>The figure relaxed a little; when they spoke again, she was struck by the softness of their voice, so stark against the rigidity of the rest of them. “I’m known as The Judge. But Clarke would have called me Lexa.”</p><p>That sounded familiar: <em> Lexa</em>. It rolled off her tongue, a bolt of lightning sending a jolt down to...oh. <em> Oh</em>. She felt her clit throb. This body was <em> very </em>responsive to Lexa, whoever they were. </p><p>“Lexa, huh?” She crossed her arms, stepping into Lexa’s space. “Well, what are you to Clarke, and why do you get to judge her?”</p><p>Lexa paused, as if gathering their thoughts. “I’m not Lexa. She would only have known me as such.” Holding their ground, they didn’t budge as Josephine stepped even closer. “And I’m here to test Clarke as the representative of the human race.” Josephine realized she must have looked terribly confused, because Lexa (or NotLexa) raised their eyebrows. “The test? For humanity to transcend and join our universal consciousness as one?” Still not receiving a response, Lexa sighed; the action made their shoulders give; where they were stiff and square, Josephine now saw the soft, shapely curve to them. “We are higher beings, inviting humanity to join us as one in the one true dimension there is no loss and no pain; only happiness and knowing all beings are equal.”</p><p>Josephine felt her eyes drop down to Lexa’s mouth. How could such gibberish be spouted from such a perfectly kissable pair of lips? Focus. She had to focus. “Are you immortal, where you’re from?”</p><p>Lexa seemed taken aback, but they recovered quickly. “In a manner of speaking, yes. We are all formless, eternal beings; death does not exist when there is nothing to die from.”</p><p>“But what about your bodies?” She saw it then, Lexa’s eyes moving slowly over hers, and there was an answering flame being lit inside her wherever they travelled, spreading everywhere and lower, lower, until she didn’t know how she was standing still anymore. </p><p>“What about them?” Lexa’s expression remained as stoic as ever, their eyes back up on Josephine’s face. “We don’t have set forms, like you do. There is no need for them; the one consciousness tends to all our needs.” </p><p>Josephine raised her eyebrows at them. If she hadn’t been standing so close to Lexa, she wouldn’t have noticed the flare of their nostrils, as if catching a whiff of her scent. “Is that so?” Lexa’s eyes widened slightly. “<em>Every </em> need, huh?” Her face was so close to Lexa’s now, she could see the slight sheen of sweat on their upper lip. It would be so easy to bring this impassive being to life with a brush of lips on burning lips. But not yet; she needed to know they were just as helpless to this pull between the two of them as she was. She backed away a step; Lexa’s eyes flashed with something unreadable; what mattered was that there was something <em> there</em>.</p><p>“So, you’re telling me, that transcendence is better than….” Reaching into the front of her flowy, velveteen pants, Josephine’s fingers began running in small, quick circles against her clit, "<em>This</em>.” She closed her eyes, throwing her head back, a slow, sultry moan escaping her mouth even as she caught her lip between her teeth. This was always so different in every body; this time though, she had an audience, and maybe, if she played this right, a willing participant. She kept it up for a few minutes, and through the haze of her sight, she looked in Lexa’s direction and almost came from the sight alone.</p><p>Lexa, hands clenching and unclenching, was watching her every move. Their chest heaving, eyes blown wide, the green in them engulfed by black and gold, the conflict written plainly to see; Lexa’s face was flushed, and set so fucking <em> feral. </em> Josephine stilled her hand, because the only thing stopping her from spilling onto herself was this insatiable need to feel Lexa’s touch on her instead. Huh. Real Lexa must have done a total number on Real Clarke. Locking eyes with Lexa, she began moving her hand again; this time, she let the tip of her middle finger graze her entrance; <em> fuck. </em> Even though she wasn’t looking at it, Josephine knew through feeling alone that Clarke’s pussy was, well, <em> just plain magical</em>.</p><p>A deep, guttural moan echoed through the stillness of the room; the song had long since stopped; Josephine realized the new sound came from herself, and judging by the expression on Lexa’s face, it definitely wasn’t unwelcome. Then suddenly, without any warning Lexa turned away, their retreat signalled by the soft tap of boots on the wooden floor, the reminder of their waning presence was a ripple caused by the wind beneath their coat. Josephine didn’t know what came over her then; in two, quick strides she was close to Lexa, and grabbing them by the arm, turned them around almost roughly. “Wait. Just...stop.” </p><p>Lexa was breathing hard now, their eyes wild, moving almost frantically between Josephine’s; still, they said nothing. Josephine sighed. “Look; I don’t understand what’s happening either; this Ferrari they’ve put me in,” she looked down, casting a glance over herself, “...Just can’t help reacting to you, or Lexa, who you represent, apparently.” She leaned in, wrapping her arms over Lexa’s shoulders, massaging the nape of their neck gently; real or not, the tenseness wrapped up inside them was certainly giving way under her touch. She watched Lexa carefully, wondering if Real Clarke had always found it this hard to get Real Lexa to open up; what a fun challenge that must have been, and one to top right now, obviously; not that she intended the pun. “So, since you’re not Lexa, and I’m not Clarke,” Josephine could feel Lexa’s heart thumping against her chest now; they stood breast to breast, nipples puckered and grazing, their heaving creating the dry friction that was wet and deeper, lower and elsewhere, all at once. “Maybe we could just give in to <em> this</em>,” she gestured between them, “Whatever <em> this </em>is, between Clarke and Lexa or…..us?”</p><p>For a few seconds, she wasn’t sure if Lexa had even registered what she had said; nothing changed; not in the air, neither here, nor there. Then, as a statue come alive and just learning motion Lexa gave a curt nod, and Josephine felt herself being lifted; on instinct alone, she wrapped her legs around Lexa’s waist, surprised by the strength in that seemingly slight frame. In three short steps, Lexa had reached the closest wall, and Josephine felt herself being slammed against it; as her ass connected with the garish wallpaper, she thought it would have hurt if the impact hadn’t made her clit throb even harder. She didn’t have any time to react before Lexa’s mouth was on her neck, leaving hot, bruising, open-mouthed kisses all the way down; she hissed a little harder at each nip turning into a harder bite until once Lexa was at the base of her neck, Josephine felt the edge of teeth sinking into her flesh; she was holding on to the edge of something and it was neither rhyme, nor reason. 

Her hips bucked wildly as Lexa bit down, and she felt the nerve endings in her clit come alive in pleasureplain, even as she pulsed hard inside. “Fuck, Lexa, don’t...don’t you dare….” She didn’t have to say it; in seconds, Lexa had pushed their hand roughly into the front of Josephine’s pants, mirroring Josephine’s fingers from minutes before, drawing circles, circles, circles….and then suddenly Josephine felt Lexa’s fingers graze her entrance, too, without hesitation. She only had time to nod once, and Lexa had shoved two fingers inside her, setting up a rough pace, back and forth, back and forth, until Josephine was keening against the wall, the silence punctuated with her endless gasps, moans and pants as Lexa fucked her with an intensity heavy enough to split her open. She drew Lexa closer and wrapped herself around them tighter, pushing her chest out even higher, her nipples straining against the thin fabric of her slip even as she kept eye contact with Lexa, whose face was wrought with a mad, otherworldly focus. Hitting a particularly deep spot, Josephine felt Lexa groan the exact moment she clenched against their fingers, pulling, grabbing, holding onto them with a want and need that she couldn’t even begin to claim to all be hers alone. “Lexa, I...don’t stop.” She managed to gasp out, even as Lexa clamped a hand against her mouth. “No talking,” Lexa hissed, as they pumped harder inside Josephine. Even in its fierceness, she could feel the slight shift in Lexa’s grip, away from her nose; they were making sure they didn’t obstruct her breath. </p><p>The thought of this interstellar being who she had met less than an hour ago <em> caring </em> at all, least of all about <em> her</em>, whoever the hell she was in this moment (Clarke? Josephine? Both, or neither?) drew out a fresh flood from her. “Mmmph,” she moaned against Lexa’s hand, shuddering as Lexa changed the angle of their thrusts while adding a third finger inside; the motion set off a powerful vibration from deep inside her; she was coming, no, this was how <em> Clarke </em> came for <em> Lexa</em>; hard, wet, and without a flying fuck for anyone or anything. She was powerless against the orgasm that this body, Clarke’s body, was hurtling towards, and it was all because of Lexa, and the realization that no matter the form or the time, Clarke would always crave Lexa like this, with the desperate hope of someone on the verge of finding the greatest of treasures, was all too much; it was too much. As she felt the first waves of her orgasm hit, Josephine wailed, biting down <em> hard </em>against Lexa’s fingers covering her mouth. At the exact same moment, she heard Lexa’s answering cry, even as she went rigid and thrust into Lexa’s hand as she finally let go. 

As she felt herself come onto Lexa’s hand, pooling into their palm, Josephine knew with certainty that this feeling of bliss washing over was not hers to keep; it never would be. She buried her face in Lexa’s neck, breathing them in as she came down from her high; Lexa was shaking, too, and Josephine held them tightly, each one propping the other up against the inevitable awareness of the other’s shortcomings: what they had experienced was only a fraction of the power of the love the bodies they now inhabited had once felt; it was humbling  and heartbreaking all at once; yet, it was infinite happiness, personified for just a second.</p><p>As she felt her breathing slow to what felt like normalcy, Josephine lifted her head to look at Lexa; the peace she saw in their sparkling green eyes clean took her breath away. Lexa was smiling and somewhere deep inside, Josephine knew without a doubt that the warmth spreading through her was precisely because of the twinkle in that otherworldly gaze. Smiling dreamily at Lexa, she leaned in; they hadn’t kissed once, she realized, and she intended to remedy that. </p><p>But Lexa only shook their head, turning their face away with a shy smile as they gently lowered Josephine to the ground, untangling themselves as Josephine’s legs found shaky footing. Not wanting to lose contact, Josephine grabbed Lexa by the lapels of their coat, trying for another kiss, another attempt at connection. This time, Lexa backed away slowly, letting their hand linger against Josephine’s, a new tenderness in their eyes. “I must go.” </p><p>As she lost hold of Lexa, Josephine nodded, trying hard to shake away the sadness settling into her heart. “Thanks, um, thanks for that, Lexa.” She ran a hand through her hair, still a little out of breath and even more out of sorts, watching as Lexa returned to the corner of the room and stood rapt once again. Only the fidgeting of their fingers gave away any indication of their inner thoughts at all. As Josephine watched, their silhouette began to grow fuzzy, encased by gold and light. “Will you come back?” She didn’t know why, but she had to know.</p><p>As they faded with the same suddenness they had arrived with, Josephine was left with the memory of touch, of skin on and in skin, and of a dazzling smile that seeped inside of her with the warmth of an endless supernova. “May we meet again.”</p><p>The words echoed within and without Josephine long after Lexa was gone. She sighed; it was inevitable, really. She muttered under her breath as she adjusted her clothing. “Oh, I have no doubt we will.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>How's it going, everyone? It's been almost a week since the Season 7 finale, since we almost got Lexa back, and since we almost had Clexa endgame. I'm happy for all the new Clexa content, the incredible endgame fix-it fics floating around, and for ADC coming back to play AlmostLexa one last time. But I’m not happy with the Clexa crumbs we were thrown yet again, and it’s taking me a while to process my feelings around that. </p><p>P.S. If you're as conflicted about The 100 series finale ending as I am, and are looking for a pre-finale, speculative fic that just writes a completely empowered and happy alternate ending that Clexa deserved, that’s over here: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26716246">The Road to Awe</a>. Be well!</p><p>P.P.S. How do we feel about more of God/JudgeLexa as a bossy top? Let me know!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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